Effortless, Even When I Was Afraid 🥎

Today was one of those days that quietly sits with you long after it’s over.

I watched Lucy and Sara play T-ball, and somewhere between the cleats, the oversized helmets, and the loud cheering, I felt a little ache — the kind that comes from realizing how much of your parenting is shaped by your own childhood.

I regret not starting Lucy in sports when she was as young as Sara is now. As a first-time mom, I was overly protective. I worried about physical injuries, yes — but more than that, I was terrified of emotional ones. I was scared she’d be teased, laughed at, or made to feel small for trying something new.

Because I remember that feeling.

I remember what it was like to try a sport or a club and not be automatically good at it. Growing up on the reservation, if you weren’t good at a sport — no matter what age you started — your teammates didn’t encourage you. You were laughed at. You were pushed to quit. And with clubs, if it wasn’t considered “cool,” you were made fun of just for wanting to join.

I was in Girl Scouts in fifth grade. I loved it. I loved Troop Beverly Hills. I wanted a badge — any badge — so badly. And yet, I still remember feeling embarrassed, mostly by my cousins, for even being part of it.

So yeah… I’ve always been nervous for Lucy.

These days, I try to focus more on teaching her to have thick skin. I tell her to be confident, to ignore negativity, to speak up for herself. I encourage her to have a smart mouth — but let’s be real, no amount of “ignore them” ever fully prepares a kid for being judged.

So yes, I am absolutely one of those moms who tells her, if they hit you, hit them back harder so they know you’re not the one. Sue me.

Sara, on the other hand? I’ve never worried about her. She’s a classic cursed second born — and even more powerful as a second-born COVID baby. Those kids are built different. Sara gives zero Fs, and it shows. 💪😅

Watching both my girls play T-ball today made me so unbelievably proud. Every new experience they have heals a small piece of younger Lesha’s heart. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous of their effortless coolness.

Skill can be trained. Confidence can be taught. But that grace? That slay they seem to naturally execute anything with? That’s something else entirely.

Everything Lucy has done so far in her tiny six years has been almost effortless. And Sara? She’s the mic drop. A carbon copy of Lucy, but somehow even bolder. It’s like Lucy walks ahead and tells Sara to follow — and Sara steps right into those footprints like she’s been here before. A six-year-old trapped in a three-year-old body. So cool. So unbothered.

Which brings me to the real question I keep asking myself: Why am I so worried all the time?

I think my heart remembers moments I once stood in — moments where trying meant being judged, humiliated, or told I didn’t belong. I brace myself because I expect that same outcome for them. But instead… they come out greater than expected.

They try. They play. They smile. They belong. And somehow, it really is effortless for them.

Maybe that’s the lesson. Maybe healing doesn’t always come from protecting our kids from the world — maybe it comes from watching them walk into it with confidence we never had, and realizing they’re going to be okay. And maybe… so am I 🥹